​Lois Greene Stone, writer and poet, has been syndicated worldwide. Poetry and personal essays have been included in hard & softcover book anthologies.  Collections of her personal items/ photos/ memorabilia are in major museums including twelve different divisions of The Smithsonian.  The Smithsonian selected her photo to represent all teens from a specific decade.​​

            In a musty carton, I found my mother's 20th century elementary school autograph book;  inside its blue leather cover was penned her personal message 'Go my little album, far and near, To all my friends I hold so dear, And ask them each to write a page, That I may read in my old age'.
            It must have sounded somewhat romantic to a thirteen year old...dear friends...old age, and probably every girl wrote the same verse.  I read some verses, then re-lived receiving my passage to high school album:
            "Mom," I offered untouched pages in the school's standard brown leather book, "you write first."
            The gold-tip Parker pen inked "To my darling daughter.  May you be blessed with good health, long life, contentment, and have a future of peace and love.  All my love, Mom."
            "Oh, I knew it."  I thought.  "She wrote something lovey-dovey.  Doesn't she remember that you don't do that!"  Aloud I said "Thanks" and tried to sound as if I meant it.
            My older sister, Carole, was next.  "Yours 'till Niagara Falls.  From your sister Carole who already graduated before you."
            "What does Yours 'till Niagara Falls mean?"  I didn't see humor in it.
            "Niagara.  Niagara Falls."  Carole couldn't believe I was serious.
            "So?"
            Carole began to laugh.  Her body shook.  "Go ask someone else."
            I felt humiliated.  I wasn't sure this was a joke, and Carole wouldn't tell me what the autograph meant.
            Then my younger sister, Joyce, wrote.  "Roses are red.  Violets are blue.  Sugar is sweet.  And so are you.  From your baby sister Joy."  She then drew big circular roses all over blank parts of the page.  "Okay, now."
            I sighed and smiled weakly.  So far, each autograph was a disappointment.  I really didn't know what to expect, but like the wrappings on a gift made one feel excitement for what might be concealed, I felt I'd unwrapped a pair of socks rather than silk lingerie.
            My mother's sister was in the kitchen steeping tea.  "Want to sign my autograph book?"
            "Oh, I'd love to.  Oh I was a Flapper and so energetic shortly after. How I remember mine and what I wrote inside its cover:  Go my little album, far and near, To all my friends I hold so dear, And ask them each to write a page, That I may read in my old age."  Auntie's voice trailed off, "Dear friends and old age." 
            I handed her a pen. 
            Auntie began to recite a verse that ended with "But the best place to kiss her is to kiss her in the dark.  Do they still write that?”
            "I don't know yet, Auntie.  I just got the book."  I was realizing that I was going to get corny verses or flowery statements.  But I couldn't answer what I was looking for even if asked.
            Carole came into the kitchen.  In sing-song, she recited, "Roses are red, violets are pink, I've signed your book, in stinky ink."
            "I remember that one!"  Auntie immersed herself in autograph nostalgia.  Then with large flourishes wrote, "May you live as long as you want, but never want as long as you live.  With much love, Auntie."
            Carole, two and a half years older, handed me her graduation book.  I read a pale yellow page aloud, "Don't take the ladder to success.  Take the elevator.  Dated 'till hector has pups."  I didn't know what the last line meant.  Was Hector supposed to be a male dog?  The pink next page, in large writing, said "Remember Grant, Remember Lee, the heck with them, Remember me.  Yours 'till Bear Mountain has cubs."  I gave it back.
            "Look!"  Carole continued.  "Dated 'till George Burns.  Can't think, Brain numb, Inspiration won't come, No ink, Bum pen, Best of wishes, A-men.  Don't you love this?"  She shoved a light green page at me.  It said 'Y Y U R, Y Y U B, I C U R, Y Y 4 me.  Yours 'till England drinks Canada Dry."
            I walked upstairs;  my feet felt heavy.  Passing my own room, I dropped the album on my maple desk, then went to the master bedroom.
            I touched the pillow where my father's head slept.  I'd called him at work, told him my autograph book was here and I'd saved a page in the front for him to sign when he got home.  I was positive he'd pen something meaningful.
            Now I'm calendar years elderly, yet find that hard to truly process.  I thought about my mother as I concentrated on that tangible album validating her youth, innocence, schoolgirl existence.  I stroked where her hand had written "...that I may read in my old age...", and wondered if she indeed had ever re-opened it?
 
published July 1998 Rochester Shorts
reprinted: The United Methodist Publisheing House   summer 1999
reprinted June 2008 Clear Mt. Syndicate

​ 
            “What's in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.” ― William Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet
            Okay.  Let’s call a rose putrid.  Conjures up a disgusting odor, so that won’t work.  How about dung, even though it is manure.  Might we label that flower decay?  Well, I just don’t think it would ‘smell as sweet’.  Be my Valentine and here are a dozen red dungs; I thought about twelve yellow putrids but the stems still had the thorns so I decided on the red dungs.  Pretty aren’t they?  
            Currently I could get a legal Passport and omit my gender.  Glad Stone is politically correct since it doesn’t end in ‘man’ or any stereotypical group.  Happily my maiden name meets social standards unless society decides anything that seems to represent a color is discrimination, but, ha, my dad put an 'e' on it so, basically, it isn't a color. When I was writing for print-only-before-computers medical journals, one of my well researched yet readable material got printed Louis, definitely a man's name, and when I asked the editor about the non-able-to-be-changed error that wasn't 'me' and now male, he said he didn't think a woman could have written such a fine piece and maybe I made a typo re my name. I am not making this up!  And this wasn’t a sense-of-humor coming from one who edited staid medical journals.  That publication filed by year is still on shelves in medical libraries and only I know the author is Lois.
That bookshelf just does not ‘smell as sweet’ to me!
            When do we get rid of Tennison, which is from the baptismal for the son of Dennis?  Emerson is okay since the TV show Desperate Housewives used it for a girl, but it does have ‘son’ as the ending.  Does society really need a John Doe and a Jane Doe anymore when we can more-easily just say J. Doe as sexual orientation might not be known?
            George Gordon Byron is only really known as Lord Byron.  Definitely his work should not be taught in school.  Bad enough his iambic tetrameter just isn’t modern, but “She walks in beauty, like the night” just needs to be started with “It walks in beauty....”  And, Lord!  If we can discard Little House on the Prairie because a repeated word offends, I am offended by Lord Byron when his real birth-title was George. Are we to believe that his work is more important than Emily Dickinson “It was not Death, for I stood up,” as she allows death to be gender-free, and has no ‘Lady’ before her own name?  But, uh oh, Dickinson does end in ‘son’.
            There is actually an online site for gender neutral baby names.  Reflecting non-identity is ‘in’, and there is also a webpage for non-binary names.  “Nonbinary people may also choose to identify as genderfluid, agender, genderqueer, or enby.”  When I was younger, queer was an adjective or noun, and, as the latter, more a put-down than a compliment.  Had never seen these other words even as an English major when going to grad school at Teachers College, Columbia University, and one would think a prestigious Ivy League place would have given me this information!  Oh, those words didn’t exist.
            I really appreciate that words and society are not static, and life considers respect for any human a goal.  Ruth Bader Ginsburg could not easily get a job because of gender and slowly opened some doors; Betty Friedan tried screaming her way through the openings but only aroused unrest.  I did not get the salary of males doing the same job but I have lived to see Sociology of Marriage and the Family alter its textbooks telling women that any good wife can never do for her husband what a bad wife could do against him...message was be compliant and fulfill duties linked to being a good wife.  Once ‘what do you do for a living’ was frowned on if a woman with children worked, then if she didn’t work she was looked on as ‘only a housewife’ as if she were brainless; now there are choices.  A co-ed in the 1950's was assumed to be undergrad ‘to catch an MRS degree’ and those who wanted an education or profession were looked at with suspicion.  So stigmas as these are gone.  And for all humans, everywhere, as in Shakespeare’s The Merchant of Venice: “If you prick us do we not bleed? If you tickle us do we not laugh? If you poison us do we not die?”
            Might it be okay if I put my name on a legal document, add my birth gender on a medical form, address someone as Mr. Jones, and still feel truly respectful for others’ choices in partners or life? 
 
                        

​Birth Certificate: do not complete this form until you read the detailed information provided.  We have printed this in Spanish, Mandarin Chinese, French, Russian, Italian, Portugese, Japanese, and English.  There is an interpreter available for other languages, and do ring for that service and one will come and help you.  Here is the guide to understand how to fill out the legal document.
 
Birther’s first name should be hand-printed on the dotted line; one’s last name must be omitted if incorrect. These are a few examples of incorrect: Shirley Temple Black could not use Temple as that refers to religious house, and Black is socially unacceptable. Also not satisfactory would be Betty White, James Brown; Morgan Freeman, Paul Newman are not allowed because of the ‘man’, Robert Redford needs the ‘Red’ removed, but there is a list provided on the reverse side of this paper.  So, if your last name violates the social standards by having a color, a sexual identification, or the like, leave that completely blank.  
 
Gender line for the offspring needs the birther to circle: undecided, neutral, none declared, possibly male, possibly female, might trans later so leaving blank, or ‘other’ which birther may write in by hand.
 
Birth-weight of newborn has an option that says ‘prefers not to give’ since a premature low poundage might receive an ‘anorexia stigma’, and a large baby possibly be put into the ‘eventually obese’ category.  Height in inches can also be left blank for the same reason as ‘basketball career’ if long, or ‘shorty’ if fewer inches than average.
 
Sperm donor’s name should meet same standards as birther’s.  If the last is Johnson, as an example, ‘son’ must be removed as that is gender orientation.  So, if ‘sperm’ last name violates the social standards by having a color, a sexual identification, or the like, leave that line completely blank.  
 
Personal address of birther will be recorded and posted online, of course.  You may indicate ‘not available’ if you wish it to stay a secret.
 
Since footprints are not filed with police, internal revenue department, or such, only baby’s footprints will be allowed to be taken.  This should make filling out the birth certificate form less future-thinking-emotionally-stressful as baby’s fingerprints will not be in ‘the system’. 
 
Also we have eliminated is the Apgar screening test:  Appearance, Pulse, Grimace, Activity, and Respiration. The impression of skin color is important in this particular investigation to determine whether a baby is jaundice or such, but that is prejudicial so we’ve discontinued this test.  While it has provided a quick and somewhat efficient summary regarding the newborn’s health status, it no longer meets the social conduct of present day.
 
If a specific first name for the infant has not been accepted yet by family and friends, you may call the child ‘it’ as everything on the birth certificate may be changed later in life to suit the person, when grown, and be completely legal.
 
Should you have further questions before turning to the actual form to be submitted, you may call for the interpreter as it has memorized answers to every possibly asked question and in as many languages as it can.  It also has a translator App on its phone for assistance.
 
Please know we welcome your newborn into society and thank you for choosing this particular place for birthing.
 

            Dictionary definitions are sometimes so vague.  I remember reading that motherhood means the character, spirit, or qualities of a mother.  Just bearing a child brings the title.  Isn’t there more to a word than its definition?
            My mother so often repeated “bring people ‘flowers’ while they’re alive to enjoy the beauty and happiness they bring”.  I took that literally for a time, shrugging my shoulders, and thinking her language was flowery as well.  Eventually I grasped the phrase... the flowers were kindness, appreciation, understanding, praise, unselfishness, sympathy, loyalty, generosity, and actually telling someone that you care. 
            It’s so easy to fail to show appreciation, or praise, or be generous.  We’re busy, and there’s plenty of time.  We can always send ‘flowers’ next month or year.
            When I got married and moved 1200 miles away, I was thrust into more roles than I realized I’d ever have, and they came all at once.  I was high school teacher with 140 students a day, wife, full time cook and cleaner, full time typist of my med-school husband’s papers, laundry/ ironer without a washer or dryer and before perma-press, plus more.  Before hair dryers and wearing rollers trying to make curls from wet-straight strands, only once did I decide to push aside the piles of student essays I graded as hair slowly dried, and, instead, I penned a long-long letter to my mother.
            ‘Mom.  Our home witnessed both the living and the passing on.  You made it a family’s house with no room restricted. Also, it was the only place no one had to pretend.  I took my castles in air and attempted to put foundations beneath them and neither you nor Dad ridiculed.  I revealed silly dreams without being mocked, cried over shallow disappointments without feeling foolish.
            You always welcomed friends and relatives sharing joys or giving comfort. Religious instruction was strengthened as we practiced the philosophy of it in our daily goings.  But, a big thing was your constant ‘being there’ when needed, lifting when we stumbled, helping us learn to make our own happiness, encouraging us to reach personal goals, and outstretching your arms with “I love you and am proud of you, my daughters”.  And you trusted us.
            Sharing experiences as a family, with Dad’s 16mm silent movie camera rolling to preserve as many moments as possible, strengthened our bonds.  Living near Manhattan with theatre, ballet, opera, museums, concerts, and going together to be able to discuss our impressions from each of our vantage points in life, was incredible.
            How did you manage to time it so you were home when any of your daughters came from school?  Like your never going to sleep, when I dated, until I was safely in the house, you didn’t invade our space and ask questions.  If I wanted to talk, I came to you, else you ‘disappeared’; same thing happened after school days.  So I ignored you, but it was important that I knew you were ‘there’.
            I so disliked the adage ‘you can lead a horse to water but you can’t make him drink’, and you so often said that.  Now I comprehend: you advised and suggested but I had to make my own decision, mistake, or even use your decision without ever hearing ‘I told you so’.  I could exercise my ideas, develop my own tastes, and not be mocked.
            You didn’t lecture about marriage; you were a role model.  You adored, encouraged, praised, respected Dad.  You lifted his spirits when he felt down, shared when he was elated, daily lived ‘it’s better to give than receive’.  It’s no wonder when Dad’s soul was suddenly removed from his forty-five year old body that his last words were “I love you darling.”  He always brought you ‘flowers’.
            So, my mother, as I sit here in Nashville, and you read this 1200 miles away, I send you this bouquet.  Each flower is another trait of yours and is a full and beautiful cluster.”
            Now I’m reading a yellowed letter I’d written decades ago; it was tucked among unsorted papers from my mother’s things that, since her death, I just never wanted to go through.  I’ve often berated myself for not showing enough love and respect, not telling her often enough of her value, not embracing her for who she was and what she gave me as a person.  My mind replays my times of indifference, concern about a phone bill (when long distance charges were by the minute) rather than make a call to California (where she completed her life), thoughts of myself and my own family needs and often using those as an excuse.  But, the Nashville address, on a new-bride’s note, has me smiling because I’ve focused so much time on my hindsight and what I could have done differently, that I had forgotten I actually did bring ‘flowers for the living’.
 
 
 
©2008 The Jewish Press
reprinted May/June 2009    Over the Back Fence                          
syndicated March 2019   Clear Mt. Syndicate

​Last night was a bad night. I awoke at 1.30 a.m. and tossed and turned for hours, worrying thoughts chasing themselves around my brain to the point of despair. Worry about the invoice for the dental implants I had two weeks ago and the difficult conversation I was going to have to face to sort out what I consider to be unjust charges. Worry about the tall tree on the other side of the fence close to my house in the neighbor’s garden, my fear that because it’s a ‘trash’ tree it could topple and do huge damage to my house. Worry about the recent leak I had in my roof, now fixed, but just today I noticed that plaster is falling off a downstairs ceiling and upon inspection with a flashlight I see what looks like black mold in there. And of course dominating my mind, and everyone’s at this time, is the Covid 19 situation in our country and in the world. On and on and on the thoughts came fast and furious, galloping like wild horses thudding in my head, and much as I tried to focus on my breathing and thoughts of peace,  I couldn’t.

Until I let my mind go back over my life (oh, I was also worrying about being old and dying alone and indulging in other self-pitying thoughts), and then I started to remember, re-member, days and events from my past. I felt again the happiness, excitement, challenges of so many adventures lived in so many different parts of the world, experiencing again, decades later, an intense feeling of being alive. Rappelling down a hundred seventy foot dry waterfall in the Sinai desert, feeling again the terror as I took that first step over the edge of the abyss, followed almost immediately by elation and euphoria that I’d overcome my fear, and the joy I felt during my descent as I examined the small ferns and plants growing in the crevices. Diving in the Indian ocean among gardens of giant multi-colored clams, surrounded by the graceful flowing forms of Manta rays. Sitting on the black volcanic beach on the island of Stromboli, holding up golden grapes to catch the rays of the setting sun. Seeing the Taj Mahal floating on the silvery beams of a full moon.   Celebrating my first July 4th holiday in the U.S.A. with a midnight picnic and a swim in the icy waters of the Arctic Ocean off the coast of Alaska, with the sun barely dipping toward the horizon before starting its ascent again. Holding in my arms the new-born child, just a few hours old, of a young friend of mine, blown away by the perfection of this tiny new life.

Then my mood swung to regret. Regret that at the moment of living through those intense moments, I had not felt the appreciation and gratitude that I felt for them as I lay in my bed last night. If only I had felt back then what I felt last night. Then consolation of a sort came. It’s not too late to start now. I can still be fully present in each precious moment of life, however seemingly unimportant it may appear, however trivial, and be grateful and appreciative of them, and of the times that still lie ahead of me. The smiles and hugs of all the children on my block who call me “Nonna”, Italian for grandmother. Sharing a cappuccino in my kitchen with a friend, sipping from my English grandmother’s beautiful hand-painted bone china cups. The ongoing gratitude when I am out in my garden working the soil, communing with my beloved plants, listening to birdsong, harvesting my tomatoes and eggplants with appreciation and amazement. Not to mention the beautiful music that feeds my soul and soothes my spirit.  So much still lies ahead to enjoy and for which to give abundant thanks.  The secret perhaps lies in being fully present in the ‘now’, because that is all we ultimately have.

And on this happy note I fell asleep, and I had a dream that reflected those thoughts. In the dream I was seated at a square table with three other people, whom I did not know, and I felt, in that moment, in the dream, the gratitude and joy I had been thinking about in my waking state. So I reached out and grasped the hands of the two people on either side of me until we were all holding hands, and I looked at each of them and said out loud, “Thank you for this moment of beauty and joy that we are sharing.”  

When I woke up this morning my heart was full and I was at peace, able as never before to relish the ‘now’, to be in the moment, and to appreciate the gift of life and love. There is so much evidence of love all around us if we can only see it, and when we step into that river of love we become part of the creative power of life. Creation is ongoing and we are all co-creators in our own reality and the greater collective reality. Those poignant thoughts culled from sleepless hours last night reminded me that the two main pillars that support our happiness are acceptance and gratitude.  And those thoughts led me to remember the justly famous prayer written by the  theologian Reinhold Niebuhr: Grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.

I would say that in retrospect this was a pretty rich harvest for a few hours of tossing and turning, and as the world is going through great turmoil, these words of wisdom are particularly relevant, and of comfort to me. 

Not such a bad night after all.

H. W. Bryce​ is the author of Chasing a Butterfly (Friesen Press 2017) and his poetry appears in anthologies in Canada, the US, India, Bolivia and Spain. His poetry has appeared in poetry journals, such as the Ekphrastic Review and Neworld Review. Bryce also served as one of the judges for the Rabindranath Tagore International English Poetry Competition, 2017, India. With a degree in English and Journalism, Bryce is a member of the Federation of BC Writers, and several poetry societies. He frequents numerous poetry groups, does readings, and has been featured on radio. Bryce continues to advocate against Alzheimer’s and does poetry readings as well as workshops at care homes. He blogs at
https://www.facebook.com/herb.w.bryce/
H. W. Bryce turned to poetry in a big way when his wife was slowly dying with Alzheimer’s and he was sinking into that deep pool called depression. “Dr. Poetry” rescued him and nursed him back to health. He is now a full-time poet and writer. Bryce is a former journalist with Canada’s Globe and Mail and The Hamilton Spectator as well as the Worthing Herald in England. He has been a book editor, with Hamlyn House in London and Hancock House in Surrey, British Columbia. He has also been a sometime teacher, and a courier. He lives in the Metro Vancouver area, Canada.

​TITLE: I Once Was Lost But Now Am found
AUTHORS:
Reneé Drummond-Brown, the United States of America, and Nancy Ndeke, Nairobi, Kenya
PUBLISHER: Independent-Author Reneé Drummond-Brown-Amazon-Kindle Direct Publishing (KDP)
Amazon-Kindle Direct Publishing (KDP) Paperback Book:
https://www.amazon.com/Once-Was-Lost-Found-understanding/dp/B08F6R3RKX/ref=sr_1_16?dchild=1&qid=1600718721&refinements=p_27%3ARenee%27+Drummond-+Brown&s=books&sr=1-16
 
Amazon-Kindle Direct Publishing (KDP) e-Book:
https://www.amazon.com/Once-Was-Lost-Found-understanding-ebook/dp/B08F2ZZLWQ/ref=tmm_kin_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&qid=1600718721&sr=1-16
 
ISBN: 9798671178203           ASIN: B086FHMC5S
PGS:  120
 
 
This book is affirmation of life and love. It is also a plea for human dignity, acceptance, forgiveness, and positive action for recognition and self and racial affirmation. Your blood is my blood.
 
Set out in sections, the two authors, in a sort of call and answer meld, set out to recognize and honor the beginnings of the plight of the Black people in America.
 
In the title poem, Drummond-Brown sets the scene with the voice of a slave girl, intertwined with lines from the original song, even lines from the US national anthem, and then she twists the knife. “...and now I’m blind.”
 
Wow. Powerful. You know you are in for a great read.
 
Then comes the Oceanic Blues section. The opening poem sets the scene and the tone for the book. Africans were captured and sold into slavery, yet
 
“...my soul still manages
To find love
The best it can.”
 
“America was raised on “my” breast,” Drummond-Brown declares. It was, metaphorically and in underlying fact. This poem is dedicated to “the Wet Nurse Slaves.”

Good enough for children, they were, good enough for sex and rape, they were; but not good enough for personhood. This is the fight still going on. This is what these two authors are addressing. And quite timely too, what with the continuing killings of Black men, the most notoriously recent one being George Floyd.

I dubbed this “heroically courageous writing.” But all of it in this book is, by both writers. They have their hearts on the pulse. Zeitgeist.
 
Drummond Brown’s grounding in the Bible is always relevant to today; never tedious or overbearing; often so to the point that we wonder how we could have ever missed the point she so pointedly makes.
 
Ndeke picks up on the theme in “How Did We Get Here?” This is a hard-hitting anti-war, anti-exploitation poem.  
 
 
Where guns and bullets carry more weight than grain?…
…If only, we could Reason as we were created to be!
 
 
This flows smoothly into Drummond-Brown’s “Jaws,” the crammed “like sardine’ trip from Africa to America, followed by her “Negro HAND Me Downs...,” a portrait of the cotton picker’s life that offers a glimpse of the Brown family name, and so we learn as we enjoy this splendid book of poetry.
 
It also reveals, once again, the indominable spirit of the People.



Sangin’ in them fields; my HANDS clapped my FEETS’ stomped…
…These HANDS charmed and motivated the cotton pickers
To never give in, give out, or stop.
 
 
Though treated like hand-me-downs, the people held on to their dignity.
 
A couple of poems later, Drummond-Brown writes about the “Plight” of her people.
“Plight” could, perhaps should, be called Were You There? for the repetition of this rhetorical question. This challenge helps us to understand the “plight,” and why the people can ask of us,
 
 
Were you there? When dat slave girl was killed that day
They stole her away. And you, have nerve to wonder why?
You don’t get that right to understand our plight!
I’ve been there, cause she lives.
In da STEAL of my nights!
 
 
Their History, their life, is embedded within us today. We are all our history. We must understand each other’s history. We should all learn to see the hurt in each of us.
 
In “Slavery Recipe,” Drummond-Brown masters the art of sarcasm with finesse.
 
In the Rivers Run Deep section, Ndeke writes “Bathe,” an anguished cry against marital brutality—a reality in far too many lives—which, in her “She is He” poem she refers to as “generational stream.”
 
Her “It Isn’t Me” is a survival tale of Woman, who always does for you before herself, she the “willing potter,’ a “savior unsaved by her own.” Denial and defiance speaking the underlying sense of dignity. Dignity in suffering. Who is the spiritual winner here? Is she speaking of a denial of God? This writer makes you think.
 
And so, Drummond-Brown’s “The Negro River” truly does run deep.
 
Ndeke is a beautifully profound writer of the truth of how it is, in compatible contrast to the more colloquial Drummond-Brown. Both get at the root and the heart of the things of reality. Both are soulful.
 
And so, it goes, section to section, affirming the African Americans, telling their plight, affirming Love, affirming Life. All of that, and the Blacks still have much to teach the rest of us. Let us embrace each other.
 
So, perhaps ’nuff said. For I paused in my note taking to comment:
 
If you want Authenticity, read Reneé Drummond-Brown.
If you want Truth, read Nancy Ndeke.
If you want a damned good read, read “I Once Was Lost But Now Am Found.”
 
While “Once I Was Lost But Now Am Found,” is about the plight of a people, it is NOT a downer to read.
 
Indeed, it is most apropos in these days of Black Lives Matter. Let us make it so.
 
One uplifting aspect I found in the reading is the echo of the church in the lives of the early Black “settlers.” And the reference to the singing in the fields. And thereby the formation of gospel choirs, and all the great, great singers who have been weened there, and all the great, great music they have given us all.
 
And should not this great gift be rewarded with the gift of Personhood?
 
Just today as I worked on this review, I discovered the great singer Alicia Olatuji, the lady who sang at Obama’s second inauguration. She sang “Both Sides Now,” and she brought me to tears.
So, I ask, how the hell can anybody hate a whole race that produces talent like that? That is God given.
 
Can we see both sides now?
 
 
Conclusion:
 
This book tells it how it is, how it became, and, if we all answer its clarion call, how it CAN and SHOULD be. Read it for inspiration. And be brave; it is a call to action, however small or radical, in the cause of Peace through Peace, via dignity. We all deserve it. We have been lost. Let us allow ourselves to be found. Let recognition rule. So sayeth the authors. And each of these writers is a writer to be reckoned with. They have listened to Dr. Martin Luther King, in their collaborative poem “Dreams,” for instance; they are asking us, have we? Let us be quit of the us and them syndrome.
 
This book needs to be paid attention to.
 
 
 
About the Authors:

Reneé Drummond-Brown:
 
Reneé Drummond-Brown was born in North Carolina (Marine Brat) at Camp Lejeune U.S. Naval Hospital, to wonderful parents: Mr. & Mrs. Peter Charles Drummond of Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. She refers to her parents as being the sole reason behind her strength but God is the wind beneath her wings. She has traveled to Kenya, Africa on a Missions trip and has lived across the states on various Military Bases, including Kaneohe Bay, Hawaii. Her siblings are Delbert Dwayne Drummond and the Late Pastor Shawn Charles Drummond. She is married to Cardell Nino Brown Sr., and the couple has three children: Cardell Jr., Raven, and Dr. Reneé Brown.
 
Drummond-Brown is a renowned author residing in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. She holds a Master of Arts degree in creative writing with a concentration in poetry from Chatham University. She also holds a Bachelor of Science degree in Christian Ministry Leadership with a minor in biblical theology studies, graduating summa cum laude from Geneva College of Western Pennsylvania. In addition, she received an Associate of Arts degree in Christian Ministry at The Center for Urban Biblical Ministry (CUBM), where she served as class president and graduated in the top 5% of her class.
 
While at CUBM, her writing career blossomed into Reneé’s Poems with Wings are Words in Flight, a phrase that eloquently coins her work. The dominant themes of her writings are spiritually based. She has been led to write about blacks’ history, The Civil Rights Movement, slavery, family, and the African American woman who at times is taken for granted. Drummond-Brown’s poems with wings metaphorically points to this scripture “And he sent forth a raven, which went forth to and fro, until the waters were dried up from off the earth” Genesis 8:7 (KJV).
 
Drummond-Brown has published several poems, one of which was written for the Original Freedom Singer of The Civil Rights Movement, the legendary Ms. Rutha Mae Harris. The poem was published by Judith Hampton-Thompson, of The Metro Gazette Publishing Company, Inc., Albany Georgia. Drummond-Brown is the author of over 15 poetry books to date, and her work can be seen across the globe in various anthologies and magazines. Her poetry and essays have placed in several contests. She has received accolades each year since she started writing in 2013. Drummond-Brown is poet laureate to Valley View Presbyterian Church and offers community service to various churches, colleges, mission centers, senior events, and youth programs across Western Pennsylvania.
Drummond-Brown’s love for creative writing is undoubtedly displayed through her very unique style of poetry. When asked by others about her writing style, she posits “God’s word in The Holy Bible, King James Version, inspires my writings thereby making my poetry very different and unconventional.” She credits her writing to the following: God before all else, her late mother, and her college Professors who brought her writings up a notch from strictly creative to an academic style of approach challenging her to research and write poetry related to social injustices based on historical facts.
 
Drumond-Brown takes pride in this book I Once Was Lost But Now Am Found, published with co-author Nancy Ndeke of Nairobi, Kenya, connecting their lost lineage with both cultures’ weaving complex roots of bonds that surpass all understanding. Drummond-Brown has recently been awarded by Wildfire Publications Magazine, Poetess of the Month, and her poem "BLACK CRIMES MATTER,” poem of the month, also her works’ selected by the Scarlet Leaf Review's list for “Best of the Net” nominations 2018. She also graced the cover of KWEE Liberian Literature Review 2016. Her publications can be seen in Blys Global Magazine, cubm.org/news, Leaves of Ink Magazine, Pitch Vault Media, Raven Cage Poetry and Prose Ezine, Scarlet Leaf Publishing House, SickLit Magazine, Tuck, and Whispers Magazine. Because her work is viewed on a global scale this solidifies her as a force to be reckoned with in the literary world of poetry. Drummond-Brown is inspired by none other than Dr. Maya Angelou, and because of her, Drummond-Brown posits “Still I write, I write, and I’ll write!”
 
 
 
Nancy Ndeke:
 
Author Nancy Ndeke is a Poet of international acclaim who resides in Nairobi, Kenya. She is the Associate Editor, of Liberated Voices, and a reputable literary arts consultant. Her writings and poetry are featured in several collections, anthologies and publications across the globe.
Ndeke’s literature can be seen in The Wildfire Publications Magazine, Chief-in-Editor, Susan Joyner Stumpf, and Vice President Deborah Brooks Langford, as well as ARCS Magazine, New York, DR. Anwer Ghani, is Chief in Editor.
Ndeke Women’s Arts Presentation was recently published by Women of Art (WOA) in Cape Coast in Ghana. Soy Poesia, in Peru, Claudette V pg 11 featured her writings with great reception. AZAHAR, Mexico, with the initiative from Josep Juarez published Ndeke’s literary work. She is also recognized in the World Federation of Poets, and the World Festival of Poetry (WFP) by Luz Maria Lopez editorial team. Both are in Mexico.
Ndeke is a loyal contributor to several journals: Resident contributor of the Brave Voices Poetry Journal, African contributor to Different Truths, a publication that sensitizes the world on the plight of Autism edited by Aridham Roy., Save Africa Anthology, edited by Prof. Dave Gretch of Canada, and reviewed by Joseph Spence Jr., who has also featured her poetry and other works on issues afflicting Africa, and Africans.
Agron Shele, of Atunis Galactika, a world poetry promoter has showcased several of her poetic works, along with Atunis 2020, Anthology. Radio show Host Patricia Amundsen, of Australia featured her poetry on the International Women’s Day at Messenger of Love Radio Station.
In addition to her body of works, Ndeke has collaborated on projects with Author Reneé Drummond-Brown in her book, Tried, Tested and True Poets from across the Globe, and short stories, poetry and Novel collaboration with Professor Gameli Torzlo of Glassgow University,  “Mazungumzo ya Shairi,”which is registered with the Library of congress in The United States of America. 
 
 
About the Reviewer:
 
H. W. Bryce:
 
H. W. Bryce is the author of Chasing a Butterfly (Friesen Press 2017) and his poetry appears in anthologies in Canada, the US, India, Bolivia and Spain. His poetry has appeared in poetry journals, such as the Ekphrastic Review and Neworld Review. Bryce also served as one of the judges for the Rabindranath Tagore International English Poetry Competition, 2017, India. With a degree in English and Journalism, Bryce is a member of the Federation of BC Writers, and several poetry societies. He frequents numerous poetry groups, does readings, and has been featured on radio. Bryce continues to advocate against Alzheimer’s and does poetry readings as well as workshops at care homes. He blogs at
https://www.facebook.com/herb.w.bryce/
H. W. Bryce turned to poetry in a big way when his wife was slowly dying with Alzheimer’s and he was sinking into that deep pool called depression. “Dr. Poetry” rescued him and nursed him back to health. He is now a full-time poet and writer. Bryce is a former journalist with Canada’s Globe and Mail and The Hamilton Spectator as well as the Worthing Herald in England. He has been a book editor, with Hamlyn House in London and Hancock House in Surrey, British Columbia. He has also been a sometime teacher, and a courier. He lives in the Metro Vancouver area, Canada.
 

​ 
Wild waves crash across my kayak as I try to paddle forward, to stay on course. Wind whips up the waves as water drips from behind my head down my back, seeping under my life jacket. I feel the wet sensation against my skin. In no time, I am drenched to the bone as I continue slogging, paddling toward the bay ahead which will be more sheltered from the wind. It still looks far away.
 
We are eight boats against the elements, including two very experienced young guides. One of them brings up the rear, tossing me encouraging messages across the waves. His cries “Great going,” and “You’ve got this,” help me to persist.  It’s a bit of a marathon performance to cross this channel on our very first day out. The sky is dark now, having shifted quickly from the warm haze that shone when we left shore. We have five days to explore the North Channel together, a part of Lake Huron north of Manitoulin Island in Ontario.
 
I am making some progress against the blustery wind, should be able to reach the bay in about 20 minutes. I just have to keep moving. Always keep the paddle in the water in waves, in order to steady the kayak. My muscles are flagging, but I keep going. Trying to keep my hands from sliding down the shaft of the paddle, I dip and swing to the other side. It is a constant, rhythmic motion that slowly propels me against the wind and waves toward the opposite shore where the stronger paddlers are already beginning to gather.
 
I read somewhere that a wave you face is not an obstacle but an opportunity. An opportunity to learn about yourself and prove your strength. An opportunity to develop new skills and come out wiser. Fine words that seem rather high and mighty right now. In the trenches of this journey, I am too focussed on moving forward inch by inch to contemplate their deeper meaning.
 
I am sweaty but I cannot smell my fear. Rather I rise to the challenge, feel exhilarated and persist. With the guide’s encouragement I give a final push and we move out of the wind and into the bay. What a relief! I am soaked and full of wonder at the waves and wind that challenged us right off the bat. A robust feeling of accomplishment accompanies me as I munch on a power bar, hoping to glean more energy for the paddling still ahead.
 
In years gone by this setting was interpreted gloriously by members of the Group of Seven, landscape painters in the 1920’s. They captured in their paintings the undulating pink granite rock that characterizes the land surrounding North Channel. I sense their presence as we prepare again to set out. This time our plan is to hug the shore, avoiding the worst of the wind, and to search for a campsite for the night. Our hope is to paddle only for another hour before setting up camp. I feel weary but determined to complete this day’s challenging journey. I have business to attend to.
 
 
 
Swim strong little man
 
Looking up, I notice the sunset has begun. Multiple shades of orange and pink brush the western sky. I clamber down the warm, pink granite rocks to a scraggy point at the shoreline. The rock was a little bit slippery and I’m glad to have made it down to the water safely. It is relatively calm in the early evening’s light when we slip away to complete our task, the main reason for this trip to the North Channel.
 
Thirty-one years ago, almost to the day, my son Jake was conceived on the Benjamin Islands which I can see far across the bay. Today I will lay him to rest, scattering his ashes in this extraordinarily beautiful setting. He died fifteen years ago and only now am I ready to let him go.
 
Jake was a beautiful boy with soulful blue eyes that erupted into smiles at the flicker of light in his face. He was unable to sit, stand or speak and received nourishment through a feeding tube to bypass his raspy breathing. And yet, with a voice that sounded like the cooing of a pigeon, he communicated his pleasure and discomfort. Sadly, he was destined to die young.
 
His short life bestowed untold richness upon mine. While he was alive and for some time after, I wrote and advocated on behalf of children like him. My life was full as his younger sister joined me in pickets and panels to advance the needs of kids with disabilities and all children. Jake’s passing was not unexpected, but it was still jarring, leaving an indescribable emptiness.
 
This evening, in this spectacular place, I am carrying a medium size yogurt container filled with his remains. The ashes sparkle in the light as I take a small handful and toss them over the still water.  Some ash clings to the rock below while the rest creates a translucent, milky soup just below me. Gradually I scatter the contents of the container and watch the water as it flows. A good rain, such as we expect that night, will fully disperse the ash into the Channel.
 
I am wrenched by sadness -- it is the ultimate letting go. And yet, I also experience a certain feeling of peace. “Swim strong little man,” I think to myself. “You’re free now.”  When Jake died, a First Nations friend told me that Jake was now ‘free to run, the wind in his hair’. This evening I remember those words and they again bring me some solace.
 
And yet, in the tent at night I am restless. In that ethereal state between dreamscape and wakefulness, I envisage that milky water again. As I watch, a young spirit boy miraculously emerges and swims away. I can see his strawberry blond hair and lanky frame. It is my Jakey. Again, I am filled with that strange combination of sadness and peace as he strokes away into the near distance. Quietly, I again say goodbye to my   sweet firstborn.

​Growing up on Long Island, New York, my fondest memories were of the times I spent with Mom.
 
During the October season, we enjoyed watching the vibrant green leaves turn to rust, brown, orange, and red.
 
In the backyard of our home, I shivered in the damp air. I winced at the acrid odor of turpentine while watching her paint landscapes. She taught me how to mix colors, add texture, and depth to the subjects on canvas.
 
With her face fixed with intensity, she brought life to leafless oak trees, their bony branches swaying in the light wind.
 
Mom had talent and style, setting her work apart from other artists.
 
Today, her pieces decorate my living room and library. I will never forget the sacrifices she made for me. Or the time I 'played' artist and added some strokes of my own to one of her paintings. I was nine years old and she did not scold me.
 
Years later, when she became sick, I held her hand, purple and bruised from too many I.V. needles.
 
She covered my hand with hers and said, “Don’t be afraid. I’ll be fine in heaven.”
 
With one look at her work, I am brought back to those brisk, autumn days, in the backyard of my childhood home. Mom found beauty in nature, art, and our relationship.
 
Years after her death, when a leaf falls from a tree and lands on my skin, I think of her and her sweet, loving messages.
 
 

​How a woman dresses, the parts of her body she chooses not to cover, and her character judged by clothing is a source of constant debate all over the world. The stereotypes thrust on Indian women have bothered me since childhood and this first-hand experience needs to be expressed for women’s sake. Gendering begins at a tender age with uncomfortable, clumsy, decorative clothes for the girl to shield her modesty and careless shirtless son with unzipped pants displaying machoness. Our films and media join hands with society to weigh heavy on a girl, forcing her to think about ‘what to wear’ and ‘what not to wear’ in everyday life instead of which article to publish, what is left to discover in the outer space, how to invest in the stock market, whether to save mother earth through science or occult and so on and so forth.
Most of the time the dressing advise comes from quarters away from materialistic world and supposed to be lost in the search of God. Religious businessmen are infamous for moral policing on women’s attire. According to archaeologists, the old world Harappan civilisation is the ancient root of present Indian civilisation and by this logic is the most traditional. Taking this argument into consideration, “woman's clothing seems to have been a knee-length skirt” (Harappa.com).
What is it that the moral police in India refer to as traditional attire then? Sari has been favourite choice of clothing branded as Indian traditional women wear. The earliest art forms to represent this attire are Greco-Indian Gandhara sculptures. “I think the use of unstitched cloth as body covering is gender fluid. The draping style determined the name, thus sari for women and dhoti, veshti and lungi for men” (Anita Lal, Border&Fall.com). Draping a sari differs according to geographical divisions and further according to caste system. Which draping style became the standard version of draping a sari and when? Who decided a woman should wear jacket, petticoat, and her sari must have pleats while attending any formal function or going to workplace?
This is a draping standard laid down by men, for the most part, who do not drape it. Evolving fashion in India has tried to broaden the perspective on sari by remodelling ancient draping styles. Some of these are worth mentioning: pre-stitched gown style (often called the perfect indo-western wear), mermaid style (inspired from the south Indian half sari), Mumtaz style (improvised on what the kappulu caste wore in Karnataka), dhoti style (a modern version of Nauvari style worn by women in Maharashtra). The standard version of draping a sari derived from Nivi drape, which originated in Andhra Pradesh (Lifestyle 2018).
Some trendsetters did not even realise they were improvising on an already existing style because draping a sari is part of the cultural sub-conscious of an Indian woman, although the tyranny of one draping style is not acceptable. Women are forced to adhere to this style as accepted formal dress code at present. There are wide varieties of accusations against choosing this drape as the standard formal style; among which the choice made by aristocratic women, who did not have to go to a workplace is constantly argued. What is even more hilarious is the authentic traditional ways of draping sari by different communities are now subject to social shame if caught in the public eye.
The second most widely accepted Indian dress code is salwar kameez. Mughal Empire introduced this attire in India and it has stayed ever since after going through several changes (G3+Fashion.com). In Punjab, women wore a similar set of clothing popularly known as patiala. For working women who complained about draping a sari, this covered attire consisting of salwar (the pants), kameez (top) and dupatta (a stole) was granted ‘acceptable’ seal by patriarchy. The basic variations are as follows: a.) kunda salwar (loose fitted trouser), b.) patiala salwar (loose and stitched with pleats), c.) churidar (bangle like), d.) slim pants (ankle length cut on a straight grain), e.) palazzo (no cuff at the ankle and elasticised at the waist), f.) dhoti salwar (fusion of the men wear called dhoti); there are a few varieties in kurta as well depending on the cut of the fabric (Monisha Kumar and Amita Walia, IJASOS:75 –756).
Out of these, kunda salwar and full sleeve kurtis are accepted dress codes for women in most educational institutions. Women in all institutions face derogatory looks if they wear sleeveless jackets to a sari or kurti without sleeves. In some regions, dress code is not even a debatable issue but exalted to a religious moral code where human lives are insignificant compared to flimsy attire. “A 55-year-old woman was beaten to death by a mob in Aligarh on Tuesday because she allowed her college-going daughter to wear jeans. Shockingly, the mob was led by a woman” (Piyush Srivastava, “Woman killed by mob in Aligarh for allowing daughter to wear jeans.” India Today, 2013). Increasingly, we are forced to think in India whether men alone can be blamed for women dress codes, atrocities on women for such codes, and severe violence arousing from ideologies on how a woman chooses to express her sexuality through garments.
 That woman who led the mob and those women who stand by patriarchal oppressive ideologies are covetous of girls availing the privilege they could never gain and instigate violence; they do not want any woman in the coming generations to be happier than they were; they cannot tolerate the freedom of another girl wherein they were humiliated by their husband probably for a similar act; their mother never supported them and they cannot digest the courage of the above mentioned 55-year-old woman who stood by her daughter’s freedom of expression (India is a democracy with this freedom stated in the constitution).
There are many such women who support honour killing, justify acid attacks on girls, and blame a raped woman for indecent dress, or indecent behaviour, or inappropriate places visited by the victim instead of taking actions against the criminal. Every girl has aunts who tell her not to revolt against criminal men or cousin sisters who criticise that girl’s courage to do what they could never dream of doing. Even in interviews well-established sportspeople and actresses are asked, “When will you settle down?” (meaning, marriage with a man the real criteria for settling down).
Is it time we become gender unbiased and start counselling the one who breeds criminals and anti-social men? It is the hardest thing to do and the easiest is to blame women for their choice of apparel. Next time you come across a violent man in India, it is not just him who needs psychological help or his paternal influence that needs therapy, but his maternal roots contributed to the unreasonable right he assumes he has in questioning a woman’s outfit instead of his own identity as a human, not a beast.

​Introduction
 
Why do we need a new religion?
 
There are many religions in the world and most people follow one or another because they were indoctrinated from a young age by their family and the tentacles of community and culture and country and other C words to believe a great many things which have no basis in reality. These falsehoods are taken to be unshakable truths about the world and distorted to justify unthinkable acts of violence, oppression, and prejudice. Whenever any organization gets big enough it will include people who don’t understand the point of the organization, and then misconstrue its beliefs or misinterpret its texts, thus tainting the purity of the organization. Look no further than the constitution of any nation.
 
Furthermore, membership in existing religions is decreasing, the space being filled with the implications of non-religious systems, such as capitalism. While as much an opiate of the masses as religion, people can no more eat a dream of one day improbably becoming rich as they can sustain themselves off belief in an omniscient and non-existent being. Both systems seem to have a powerful persuasive ability to make people believe that they are better than others, are more deserving of the fruits of life and afterlife. These rising non-religious influences do not bring out the good in human beings, and instead nudge people to look out for themselves, coalesce into warring tribes, and be greedy, only to find themselves empty when they die, and blind to their own emptiness.
 
Why not atheism, you say? There is no God and are no Gods and Science is the best approximation of truth that we have. Fair points. Yet atheism has set itself up as anti-religious, and has also been tainted by the amoral actions and beliefs of its leaders. Furthermore, there is a hollowness to movements that set themselves up as contrary to some other idea. Just like children, people need to be taught more than what they should not do. People need to know what they should do instead.
 
Thus far in history, organized religion has been about as helpful to humanity as parking meters. There has been some good, some bad, emanating from each religion, but all have been coerced for evil, at one time or another. Murder, genital mutilation, genocide, child molestation, suicide – you name it. With so many years and unchanging principles, this fact is as inevitable as death. Religions that seek to have its followers adhere to a way of life grounded in a particular time period inevitably lose relevance over the centuries, as people try to hold mutually exclusive ways of being.
 
Finally, the teaching of morals and guidance about how to live your life through stories leaves much space for misinterpretation. The idea that one should make all of their life decisions by reading a book and trying to divine what some men (only men!) from hundreds and thousands of years ago thought was right is ridiculous on its own. But to lay out stories, and ones that are not supposed to be taken literally, as the basis of all that is right, and expect that a good lifestyle could be employed with any consistency. Blind faith. So, rest assured, Truism will be explicit, and this book won’t tell you to sacrifice your son or kill your brother to make a point.
 
Definition
 
Truism, as a word, has an existing meaning, which is “obvious truths”. Truism, as a religion, will also exist as a list of obvious truths. These are the things which all children know but have forgotten as adults, and need reminding of in order to not kill each other or at the very least, not make each other miserable.
 
In a fitting irony, this seminal text of Truism will also contain falsehoods, putting it on par with all existing religions which are full of contradictions, created by flawed people, for flawed people. That we do not know all the truths of the world is itself a truism. To the extent possible, contractions will be noted so that critics will have less work to do. Life is too complex to fit all of the pieces together of how to live a good life without inconsistencies. It is hard to know the right thing to do all the time. You will make mistakes and it is ok.
 
Truism, as it strives to be truthful, has no space for a God or Gods. Deities do not exist. Some will say that this makes Truism not a religion. On the contrary, Truism believes that the creation of a world where people treat each other as equals, where suffering is limited to an extent unimaginable today, where people are connected and care for each other, and so on, is possible. This, Truism contends, requires more Faith then believing in God, especially the longer one lives and the more one is actually exposed to the realities of the world.
 
Similarly, there is no afterlife. When you die, you are gone forever, never to return. You must make the most of the time you have here.
 
Origins
 
In the end, we have no idea how we got here or why we are alive at all. Anyone who tells you otherwise is lying. Or, maybe, they are trying to make you more comfortable with the uncomfortable reality that we are born, live, and die, with no greater purpose.
 
In the beginning, Science tells us, there was nothing but hyperdense objects floating around in a vacuum. We don’t know this to be true either. We’re guessing. We don’t know anything to be true, really. These hyperdense objects had no free will, were governed by the laws of physics and chemistry and biology, and set off a chain of events over billions of years that led to today. No one wants to believe that we were created by luck, and our life outcomes are determined by luck and physics and chemistry and biology, and have no meaning outside of the one we make for ourselves. It’s a cruel truth that will go on forever, the universe always expanding, entropy always increasing. With more and more uncertainty, less and less will make sense, outpacing our ability to understand ourselves. Living in this uncertainty, bearing it, due to the great gift and great weight of consciousness, is the privilege and burden of humanity.
Many explanations for knowing what is true have been proposed. Common sense seems reasonable, but is too often wrong. It has been common sense at various times to pull out someone’s eye if they harm you, to treat women and Black people as property, and to inhale smoke into our bodies until we die. Opinions often have little basis in fact, and are too easily changed by lies and not easily changed enough by truisms. Logic can be rationalized from opinions, are just opinions wrapped up in fancy language and ramblings.

Science, while not without its flaws, is the closest we can get to knowing if things are true. Science is slow, is constantly being revised (a pre-requisite for good Science), is subject to methodological errors, and is created by people who don’t get laid enough (except Einstein, who was a notorious slut). Slow, inching progress towards more knowledge and understanding is a force against the slow, inching progress of the universe towards more chaos and complexity. The Old Religions have this going for them; It was a simpler time.
 
Truism has always existed in the minds of humans, so this book represents an organized and replicable version of those thought patterns which have previously not been outlined in text, because people were too focused on not dying. The following sections describe those thoughts, beliefs, in order of importance (at the start, until a hierarchical positioning makes little difference), which are the basis for living a decent life.
 
 
Beliefs
 
Do No Harm
 
It should be obvious, but the history of humanity is a history of wars, raping, stealing, enslaving, killing, and sticking wet fingers in other people’s ears. It is a sticky evolutionary trait that we are always hoping to get a leg up on our fellow human by putting them down, so that our genetic code may have a slightly better probability of lasting to the next generation, and on and on. Darwin tells us that this is the right way to improve our species, but this is only true if we seek a species of highly successful people who don’t care about their fellow humans. (Contradiction: Truism supports Science but is skeptical about the long-term implications for Darwin’s theories in humans and, eventually, AIs or AI-human hybrids.)
 
In any case, violence of any kind is unequivocally unjustified among Truists. The ends do not justify the means. The means are the end, and will be rationalized as the means for any end deemed important enough by the aggressor. Truists do not hit, kick, yell, spit on, sexually assault, demean, or kill. They don’t even stick their wet fingers in other people’s ears. Harm in is not limited to the physical. Emotional abuse is similarly unacceptable, though harder to define. Physical and sexual abuse, neglect, and exposing children to violence are core evils, as they change children’s brains forever, lead to increased stress, less positive interactions among humans, and earlier death. There is no place in [beautiful non-existent afterlife world here] for those who hurt children, their own or others.
 
Unlike the other religions of the world, Truism does not seek to spread its teachings if this spread cannot be done peacefully. While we believe the message is important, the ends do not justify the means. This principle may ironically render Truism an ineffective religion, which certainly reflects poorly on the nature of humankind, if goals cannot be achieved without violence and aggression.
 
This peaceful stance, however, shall not be taken as a pass to be complacent or agreeable in the face of tyranny, hatred, and oppression. Achieving the society that Truists hope one day to exist will require sustained resistance against existing power structures, which serve a small number of people quite well, and a great many people very poorly. It is our contention that these goals, while perhaps more difficult in the short term, can be achieved through non-violent methods, and in fact must be done in the matter. As much as we’d like to believe otherwise, we have little control over the path our minds and actions take, and much less still over the minds and actions of billions. Without fidelity to non-violence, any achievement of our goals and principles in society would be counterfeit. Let there be no mistake. Truism shall not be used to justify violence of any kind.  
 
There is no God
 
There is no evidence that a supernatural, omniscient being or assortment of beings, exists. People have changed their behavior for the better and for the worse based on what they thought God wanted them to do, so the idea has had a neutral effect on the lives of humans (if feeling defensive, see Children’s Crusade). People seem to spend much time praying to God, asking him to fix their lives, in lieu of taking actions to fix their lives themselves, and then thanking God profusely when they achieve some success, whether through their own hard work or through, more often, dumb luck.
 
With no one coming to save you or smite you, it should be clear that life is what you make of it. If you want something to happen, you must figure out how to make it yourself. This is not to say that you must think of achievements in this manner. Truism contends that it is not your fault at all if your life doesn’t turn out the way you want it to. The best solution might be to just accept life as it comes, recognizing that so much of what happens to us is out of our control, is in no one’s control.
 
Anything worth creating is impossible to make without others, so whatever vacuum believers of other religions might expect to exist in Truism with its lack of God, must be found in relationships with other humans. Having relationships with others turns out to be easy, if you treat them with respect and try to understand them and acknowledge that you can’t possibly know what it is like to be them, with their brains and bodies and experiences so different from your own. Having relationships is also hard, because our brains get stuck in our own perspective or focused on our own self-interest so often that we think the world would just be best if everyone acted like us and wasn’t so stupid. You have to do the best you can not to hurt anyone, to make the lives of the people you interact with better, and to not punish yourself (or others) for not being perfect.
 
Doing all this consistently is harder and more fulfilling than blindly believing in a God.
 
There is no Afterlife
 
As there is no God, there is also no afterlife. When you die, you can do whatever you want with your body. Truism suggests that you consider your own wishes along with the people who will outlive you, and the environment, when deciding how to dispose of the unreliable fleshy vessel you have inhabited while alive. Burnt or buried, there is no escaping death and its finality. Whatever you were is gone forever. You might as well be an organ donor.
 
Many people will think this is horrible. Maybe many of those people find comfort in the thought of being reincarnated, perhaps as a gentler and blissfully ignorant creature than a human, or at least floating forever in some cloudy paradise with all of the other dead people, or at least the ones who followed all the rules. Truists can understand these sentiments, and in fact, acknowledge that it would be nicer to live on forever in a better world after we are dead. However, the fact remains that such a world does not exist, and we maintain that it is best to see things as they are, even if we don’t like what we see.
 
Seeing that your one life, often shorter, or, if you’re lucky, longer than you want it to be, as all that each of us is granted, it makes sense to make it a good one (keep reading to find out what “good” means).
 
Promote Radical Equality
 
It is a central belief or Truism that all humans are exactly equal to one another. Each individual has an inherent value. Each person, regardless of race, gender, wealth, intelligence, sexual orientation, age, beliefs, behavior, height, weight, shoe size, talents, failures, hand eye coordination, cooking ability, health, nationality, connections, social status, political affiliations, reading level, and favorite ice cream flavor, and on and on, is worth the same. The reason for this belief is that every good outcome and every bad outcome that has ever happened, is happening right now, or will happen in the future, is the result of luck. Any success can be traced back to actions out of your control. Any failure, the result of unforeseen forces beyond your power. The leader of a country is only the leader by chance of genetics and family context and education and power and historical events and cultural shifts and because their brain said, “Do this!” and then “Do that!” until they were put in charge. A person in an inpatient psychiatric facility or a prison is only there because of those same forces, out of the person’s control, working their ways; their brain telling them what they should do next and what to think about it and how to feel about it.
 
When confronted with this idea, people generally react negatively, which is how you know it is something worth considering, since it seems potentially true enough to threaten all that people believe about themselves and the world. People like to believe that they are in control, that they are active agents in shaping their future, that the terrible situation they are in is able to be turned around with some hard work and grit and opportunity, or that the achievements they’ve obtained are the result of their competence, wit, and perseverance. But where do those qualities come from? Do our genes and early childhood experiences not conspire to make us hard working or lazy, without our input? Does luck of our birth families, race, gender, wealth and educational opportunities not largely determine the shape of our life stories? Even the qualities we come to believe about ourselves are not distinct, were given by others, inserted into our brains, which control all of our behavior for our whole lives and which we can’t even begin to understand with any detail.
 
If you’re reading this book, it is more than likely that you have had an above average quality of life. You’ve learned how to read, which our brains are not designed to do, and you have enough free time or money to learn about a new way to live which you are almost certainly dismissing as unrealistic. As such a person, there is bad news. You will have to give something up in order to reach Truism’s goal of equality. You will have to give up more time, reflecting and learning from others who are different from yourself, what it is like to not have the privileges and luck that you have had. You will have to challenge yourself when your brain tells you to feel angry or disgusted or even condescending pity towards those with worse luck. And you will have to give up your money. How on earth religions thus far have not had a greater influence on the vast economic inequality that its followers seem to be comfortable with in their societies is beyond the followers of Truism. No Gucci bag is worth a thousand meals in hungry children’s mouths, but we tolerate much worse every day. Hell, we let kids die so we can get drunk and forget our meager problems without a thought.
 
In the future, or the present, or the past, depending on how long Truism lasts and if this section is kept on future editions (allowed!), humans will discover that animals have much more sophisticated brains than previously thought. As living creatures, all sorts of species will be elevated in value, and the way of treating animals in the past will be viewed abhorrently. Veganism will flourish. While obviously needed, these changes to our relationship with animals must not be prioritized over the oppression, shaming, and dehumanization of any human (it seems) who is not a rich, heterosexual, able-bodied, intelligent, attractive, Christian, White man. Truists, in this line of thinking, find themselves quite ostracized from the world, by not swooning over powerful, successful beings of great fortune and little substance. Truth is a lonely island.
 
Free Will and Destiny are Both Illusions
 
Free will, the ability to make choices and meaningfully adjust the course of our lives, is an illusion. There is both sadness and comfort in this. Nothing you’ve achieved has been on account of your personal, individual quality or intelligence or goodness as a human being. None of your failures or mistakes are your fault. We are born with a set of genes, a range of possibilities, which narrow rapidly over time, mostly in our infancy when we are helpless beings reliant on others to survive. Those caregivers, nurturing or neglectful or actively abusive, further shape our brains, solidifying our identity. By the time we are five, still lacking in true agency, we have a reasonable stable temperament, intellect, personality even.
 
Do not let this bother you too much or you will drive yourself crazy. Do not let yourself feel powerless. The world is always changing, but it never changes from the actions of one person. Even a single person’s actions are influenced and created by the countless others they have interacted with before they developed metacognition. Change happens when many, many people take a bunch of small actions, one after another, over a long period of time. Even then, it takes timing and political will and social contagion and luck. Lots of luck.
 
Destiny, similarly, is an illusion. There is no set course for your life, despite your limited agency. Outcomes are based on complex probabilities, compounding and interacting with each other over time. Suffer a freak car accident and your life expectancy goes down a tick. Be born White and it goes up. On and on, every event within the cells of your body and the actions your brain makes you take slightly adjusting the chances of uncountable future events.
 
With these two seemingly conflicting but integrated truths in mind, the solution is to live in the moment. Experience the full range of thoughts, emotions, and sensations in yourself and others. Be open to what life will bring you. It may bring you suffering, which is inevitable, and may hold you in suffering until you die, but always with moments of reprieve. It may bring you happiness, but always sprinkled with moments of despair. There is no way of knowing what will become of you; it is uncertain and there is nothing to be done about that. Reflect. Learn about yourself. Learn about your fellow humans. And live in the present.
 
Empathy, Genuineness, and Unconditional Positive Regard
 
In a rare moment of pop culture, this book will describe a historical figure. In the 1960s, a psychologist named Carl Rogers developed three conditions necessary for effective therapy. Therapy is a method of healing other humans of emotional pain while profiting from them. Well-trained therapists are actually quite effective at healing emotional pain with nothing but their own personhood and knowledge, whereas doctors have treated physical pain with stronger and stronger medications with mixed results, but have been tremendously more successful at profiting. Anyway, Carl found these three conditions after having a mental breakdown, where he was given therapy and medication to help himself function again. Through his research, he found the three conditions to be:
 
Empathy
 
Genuineness (or Authenticity)
 
Unconditional Positive Regard
 
Truists accept and incorporate science into their principles of beliefs. It is the contention of Truists, as both a matter of science and faith, that the discovery and framing of these three conditions for alleviating human suffering are the greatest scientific achievement of the modern age (to be updated with future advances and definitions of modernity).
 
Empathy is the practice of doing your best to understand another person’s experience even though you cannot possibly do so.
 
Authenticity is behaving honestly and openly in your interactions with other people, while couching criticisms or negative actions in empathic understanding of their perspective. Authenticity does not mean saying or doing everything that pops into your head. Authenticity means being yourself (if you know who that is). The more you practice being genuine, the easier it is to find out who you are.
 
Unconditional Positive Regard means loving all other humans, regardless of how mean or terrible or wrong you think they are. People are good. People are doing the best that they can with the resources at their disposal. If people are not doing well, are hurting themselves or others, it is not because they are bad, it is because they don’t have the skills or the love or the understanding or the money or the experience they need to behave otherwise. We have to remind ourselves of this constantly. Other religions imply that a necessary ingredient in religion, faith, is to believe in something challenging, supernatural. Try honestly believing that everyone you interact with, see in the news, yourself even, is inherently good and should be loved unconditionally, for just one day. Tell us if you think that is easier than believing in God or an afterlife. We don’t have to invent anything extra. Seeing people, all people, as worthwhile, valuable beings deserving of love and understanding is the kind of good challenge around which life can having meaning.
 
Openness to Experience
 
Truists believe that many of their beliefs are wrong, that this is an essential part of being human, and that reflecting on one’s inaccurate thoughts through the experience of learning and interacting with others is critical. Openness to Experience means that other people have lived vastly different lives from you, and that you can learn about them and the world by listening and being willing to change your mind. People are wrong much of the time. No one likes being wrong, but the more you get comfortable with the idea, which is true, that you cannot possibly be right all the time, the more comfortable you will be learning from others.
 
“Being right,” actually, is not as important as being kind and not doing harm and understanding others through empathy, but it is important to have an accurate understanding of yourself and the world. Everyone seems to think it matters more than anything to be right, when usually the things that matter most, like sitting with people who are in unthinkable pain or helping someone die comfortably, are the hardest things to do. In this way, admitting when you are wrong is much harder than being right, and matters more, not least of all because it shows others that it is ok to be wrong, and opens the door for them to admit faults and errors without guilt.
 
Being open to experience also means that we don’t ever stop being open to change. As time shifts and we grow older, the world changes, and we should adapt to those changes. The future may hold a world in which people of all sorts of differences, sex, gender, race, nationality, politics, thoughts, religions, intelligence, education, money, power, occupation, and so on, are accepted without question as equals, such that to even ask the question would be considered abhorrent. We Truists certainly hope we’ll get there one day, though are skeptical and realistic, considering the history of humanity so far. Again, this is faith, and, we contend, harder and more important than believing in a bearded old White man in the sky. (We also contend that being old, White, or a man confers no wisdom and should confer no status.) In any case, when that world gets here, or at least we move closer to it, Truists will not be the ones clinging to tradition or days past. Truists learn and adapt and in fact, fight for, a better future. This means we must get comfortable with change, demand it, in a direction that improves equality, does no harm, and increases well-being among humanity.
 
This openness also means that life is what you make of it. There being no afterlife, it is in fact true that #yolo (to be updated with more current vernacular in future editions). There can be no concrete rules by which Truism demands its constituents live their lives. All of the beliefs presented here are aspirational, necessarily so, because they are so hard to achieve. People seem to be want to be told how to behave by religions, even if they can’t live up to those rules. In this regard, Truism is no exception, though practitioners and potential Truists will find the “rules” much less restrictive than other religions, and much harder to follow. We won’t make you come to any specific building on Sundays, but you will have to practice non-violence and empathy and genuineness and unconditional positive regard, every day, in every interaction with your family, friends, lovers, acquaintances, and enemies. This is a big ask.
 
Adaptation to Modernity
 
While keeping its core values intact, Truism must necessarily change over time. Religions that are static, seek to a restore an old way of living with rigidity, and fail to acknowledge new truths as they are revealed, are doomed to fail. We contend that it is hard enough to live a life grounded in fact, without hurting others, and interacting with understanding and empathy with our fellow humans. Longing for days gone by and resisting inevitable advances in technology, science, or society is a bridge too far, and leaves us unable to see the world as it really is.
 
The primary driver of change will be Science. As we learn more and more about how humans function, the world around us and within us, truths that seem unthinkable now will be discovered and deemed obvious facts. We do not know what these truths will be or what changes they will bring.
 
This book, likewise, must be edited and revised regularly, as we come to new understandings. Sections that no longer apply should be crossed out. Sections that are needed to better foster equality and non-violence and understanding among people will be added. These updates will no doubt be argued among Truists, and a democratic process (to be replaced with more effective and equitable forms of organization, once discovered) is recommended to make changes.
 
A caveat: Core principles, such as those listed above this section, shall not be changed. We cannot imagine a world in which violence is acceptable, in which free will, God, destiny, or afterlife are realities, or where it would be a bad idea to treat others us equals, to understand them, and to see the best in them. People will be good to each other and society will thrive if the conditions are ripe. These core principles will serve humankind well in any future (Contradiction: Truism must change and Truism must remain the same).
 
Contradictions are also an inherent part of life. It is a great challenge for people to hold complexity in mind. People can be heroes in one context and villains in another. Comedy can be found in even the most depressing times. Banned books become more popular. (We expect and hope that Truism will be banned, especially given our nefarious plot to corrupt the children.) Events that saturate our daily lives become intolerable to think about. You are perfect just the way that you are, and you can always, should always, strive to be better.
 
Compatibility with Other Religions
 
Truism, despite its critiques, is compatible with all existing religions. Each religion holds some truth for some people, otherwise it would not exist. The world is full of these varying truths, sometimes intersecting, sometimes conflicting, but largely able to be reconciled with each other. Many people are happy with the religions they have, are buoyed up by the communities they create, find themselves sustained by traditions and rituals. There is no reason to abandon any of these traditions or “convert” to Truism. Simply integrate the core principles of Truism into your life.
 
How?
 
If you choose, you can have “dual citizenship”. The only requirement of this dual citizenship status of holding Truism and another belief system as your guiding principles for living is that you not betray to core ideals of Truism. Do not harm. Promote equality. Seek to understand another’s perspective. Hold your fellow humans in high regard, as miraculous and fragile and ordinary and powerful creatures deserving of your attention and love. There is nothing radical about these beliefs. If these simple practices of kindness are contradictory to your religious practice, it is worth considering why.
 
As should be clear by this point, Truists are not religious scholars. In another contradiction, Truists, who organized this religion, have this to say about organized religion:
 
Organized religion has been about as helpful to humankind as parking meters.
 
In not being religious scholars, at least in this first edition, we apologize for our ignorance and misunderstanding of the world’s religions, and hope you will take this apology as sincere. In good faith. In part, this lack of religious scholarship is inherent, since we spend most of our time interacting with our fellow humans, and are not much interested in what happens to us once we die. We just want to have a good time while we’re here, at no expense to others, and to help others have a good time too. This simplicity, again, is harder to maintain than it seems. But you shouldn’t need a doctorate in theology to live a happy life, a good life, and to leave the lives that you touch better off, or at the very least, not worse.
 
Death is Simple
 
In contrast to the complexity of life that we try to make simpler and simpler, death, on the other hand, is quite simple. When you die, slowly or suddenly, in youth or old age, your life is over, and you will never exist again.
 
Life is precious. It is beautiful and painful and full of joy and suffering. Death is a part of life, is the end of it.
 
People do not like this. It makes people uncomfortable to think of death, to witness it, to fear it, to roll the idea of it around in their heads like marbles in a bag. People invented things like religion because they were afraid of death and wanted to make it feel more palatable. An emotional crutch of sorts. When you die, if you lived well, you’ll go to a universe were things are better.

There is no evidence that such a place exists, much as we’d like it to. It does not matter if you burn the body or bury it or never find it, death is the end of a person. One day, perhaps, we will be able to preserve people’s brains and bodies, rebirth them, conserve their consciousness, their identities, and the meaning of life will change with its lack of clear ending. Finiteness is what makes life so special and valuable. Without death, life is meaningless.
 
A fact being uncomfortable does not make it a fact. You cannot change the truth by looking away from it, by believing something else, by soothing yourself with distractions or falsehoods. The point of this religion is not, like others, to make you feel better, or to tell you how to live or die. The point of Truism is to see clearly, the facts of life, and death, and suggest that seeing them clearly will serve you well, in spite of the pain it may cause.
 
 12 Rules to Live By (Sponsored by Buzzfeed)
 
Introduction and Purpose of Rules
 
We know, we said that we wouldn’t tell you how to live, outside of the core principles, which are aspirational, because so far no one has been able to stay non-violent and empathetic and open to experience throughout their lives. If you feel, as we do, that just living by those core principles is hard enough, a big ask, then we encourage you to stop reading here and do your best and enjoy life. Many people want more guidance than that. If you are seeking religion because you don’t know what to do and the principles outlined so far seem too vague and hard to translate in practice, then this section is for you.
 
These rules, guidelines, whatever you want to call them, are optional. By being optional, they present the illusion of choice. You can choose to read them or not. If read, you can choose to follow them or not. You have no choice. You may already know if you are the type of person who will read them, the type of person who takes advice from a book or doesn’t. Either way, it’s already been decided whether you will read on or not, and if you will take the words you read and apply them to your life (or not).
 
If this section seems appealing to you, you must not eat meat on Fridays. If you don’t like the sound of that, eat whatever you want. Again, if you don’t like rules or believe that you might know yourself better than a book or a non-existent omnipotent being, feel free to skip this whole section, which is essentially the rest of the book. You’re done!
 
Mistakes/Sins
 
“Everybody makes mistakes. Everybody has those days.” – Hannah Montana
 
It is impossible to go through life, even a day, an hour, without making mistakes. Just as we are too hard on other people, humans are incredibly good at being hard on ourselves. This is an evolutionary trait with a good purpose. It is good to try and improve ourselves. It is also good to recognize that we are inherently flawed and accept ourselves for the things we do right. So, do not worry if you make mistakes. It is difficult to consistently live up to even basic expectations, as you will no doubt find if you try to genuinely embody the core principles of Truism. As you work towards your own well-being and the well-being of others, forgive yourself for the errors you will inevitably make along the way. Likewise, forgive others when they mess up as well.
 
Eating
 
Eat whatever you want. Seriously. Truism places no hard rules on when to eat fish or not to eat cows or meat or mixing things with cheese or yeast or all the other requirements found in other religions. If you have enough food, be grateful, and give your surplus to someone who doesn’t have enough food. If we weren’t so greedy, there would be no hunger.
 
Drinking and Drugs
 
Enjoy brain-altering substances in moderation. Recognize when they become unhealthy and damage your relationships. If someone you love is worried about you, it’s time to consider what you’re doing. Remember: being empathic and non-violent and caring is hard enough with a clear head.
 
Swearing
 
Swearing is allowed.
 
Fucking
 
Have consensual sex with whoever you want as often as possible.
 
Be Honest
 
Don’t lie.
 
Self-Care/Self-Kindness
 
You must take care of yourself. Happiness is the goal and meaning of life. Not just your own, but everyone around you as well, in little concentric circles that start small and extend to every human, alive and to live in the future. The dead ones are dead forever. Remember them and learn from them, but know that you cannot affect their happiness.
 
What do happy people do differently than unhappy people? Nothing. Nothing! They do the same things. They go to school or work, they hate their jobs some days, they find partners and love them and argue with them, they eat or drink too much, or not enough, their bodies hurt and break down, they feel wretched one day and just ok the next. The only difference between happy people and sad ones is that happy people notice all of the little, small gifts that their life presents and think – wow, look at that!
 
Look! Terrible things happen to happy people, and they think – This is terrible, but it will get better.
 
Self-Sacrifice
 
Give your time and money. Accept that suffering exists in your community and others around the world and do your best to alleviate it. Suffering comes in many forms.
 
Invest in Children
 
Teach children, yours and others, to understand themselves, to be kind, to seek truth, to be unselfish, to learn from their inevitable mistakes, to abandon hate and to love fiercely. Do this by trying to understand their little worlds and their big ideas. Remember that children, before they are molded into conformists, have original ideas and put them out into the world without fear of judgment. Before you try to instill your beliefs in them, sit beside them and find out what they see. Children have just as much to teach us as we have to teach them.
 
Gatherings
 
Unneeded. Every day is as worthwhile as the last. Holy days are a social construction with no meaning. Sitting and listening to someone talk, praying to a non-existent deity together, singing, does not inherently make life better. Plus, the diversity of our lives makes a special day or rituals impractical.
 
Let your ritual be the quality of your interactions with your fellow humans.
 
Political Organization
 
Truists do not join political parties. Political parties change in their policies so often, it is impossible to keep track of their platforms. Truists instead seek to advance specific policies that are aligned with their beliefs, such as non-violence, empathy, and equality.
 
Political participation is encouraged, in order to support government policies that bring the beliefs of Truism closer to reality.
 
Anticipated Criticisms and Rebuttals
 
Not a Religion
 
Call it whatever you want. We won’t be offended if we aren’t included in your club.
 
No God
 
Fact.
 
No “Faith” or Belief
 
Belief in yourself and the future is hard enough. It is an act of faith to believe in the possibility of a kinder, more equitable, and better world, a world that you will not see in your lifetime because the goalposts are always moving. There is always new progress to be made that was invisible to the generations before us. This progress is not certain, but unsteady. It is gradual but fleeting. You should doubt that this better future is coming, it is only reasonable to do so. Working towards something in spite of those doubts is Faith.
 
No Followers
 
Give it time.
 
No Meetings or Gatherings
 
In the age of the internet, there is no need for gatherings to spead ideas. Truism has too few ideas to require meetings. These few ideas are simple and hard to get right. Use the time you would spend meeting other Truists with someone you love or don’t understand (or both).
 
Book is Too Short
 
Other religious books are too long! Who has time to read all of that over and over again and to live a full life? Humans cannot remember hundreds of pages of text well enough for it to inform our everyday interactions. We can, on average, remember 7 pieces of information. If that’s all we’ve got, even this “book” is too long.
 
Abridged Version
 
Do no harm. There is no God. There is no afterlife. Everyone is your equal. Be kind. Be honest. Be willing to change.
 
 
 

​I wash the crumbs from the silverware drawer and rearrange the mugs and bowls in orderly rows in the cupboard. Matthew and I sort his toys into plastic bins.
"Is this apple pie for tonight?" Jim asks.
"No, it's for my parents' visit," I answer while rearranging the contents of the freezer so the pie will fit.
"Are we having this chili? No, don't tell me. For your parents' visit," Jim teases. "Do you think maybe your mom and dad are coming to see you and their grandson, and not for the food?"
"I know, really, I do. I just want it to be nice. It's not like my parents drop in every Sunday," I tell Jim. 
My mother's and father's cross country road trip to see us coincides with Matthew's second birthday. I envision a birthday cake and candles and three generations around the table. I am not disappointed by our week together, and I mentally collect the Hallmark-like moments as if they are gold stars on an elementary class chart.
There are no plans for my parents' visit to extend into a second week, but my father is called back to Indiana on business. Jim and I invite my mother to stay until he returns. She and I have time to look through the shoebox of photos she has brought me. The images inspire storytelling, and we laugh at our remembrances of long-ago holidays. Most photos show my two sisters and me wearing the dresses my mother made for us. Even though the pictures are in black and white, I recall the color of each dress—the wide sashes tied in bows and how fancy I felt twirling in the full skirts. I remember money was tight in our household growing up, but you would never guess looking at the pictures of three well-dressed girls.
This unplanned time with my mother is the longest period I have spent with her since leaving home. For the last eleven years, except for short visits, we have been separated by nearly two thousand miles. By the third week, the lifestyle I had created for the first part of the visit with pre-planned menus and an organized household reverts to our usual routine. The laundry basket overflows with clothes to be folded. Matthew's toys migrate back to the living room where he likes to play, and meals don't always end with a homemade dessert.
For something new to do, I invite my mother to come with Matthew and me to a Mom and Toddler Class. We leave Matthew at the Children's Center and join the moms seated in a circle. Suzanne, the facilitator, asks me to introduce my guest. "I would like you to meet my mother, Phyllis, who is visiting me." I turn toward my mom sitting next to me. I take in her appearance as if it is a first impression—the purse on her lap, her forest green pantsuit, the small diamond studs in her ears, and the reddish-brown color of her short curls from a box of Clairol Nice n' Easy. Looking at her, the word "lady-like" comes to me. The term belongs to my mother's generation and describes the expectation she held for her young daughters.
"Phyllis, welcome. We like having grandmothers visit. I am sure you're enjoying time with your grandson." Suzanne says warmly. She shifts her position to address us all. "Today, Sonya would like to share."
Sonya, the mother of a three-year-old named Jennifer, says in a low voice, "I don't know where to begin. My husband left me--left our home. He has been having an affair with a co-worker. He says he doesn't love me anymore and wants a divorce." 
Her news elicits murmurers of concern. Sonya continues, "I have spent the last week thinking about how to create a new life. I need a lawyer and a job. Then I will have to figure out daycare for Jennie." The mention of her daughter brings glittering tears to her eyes.
Suzanne says, "Sonya, thank you for trusting us with your news. Does anyone have any thoughts for Sonya?" The women respond with attorneys' names, offers to watch Jennifer when Sonya has appointments, and suggestions for looking for a job. 
Looking less dejected, Sonya replies, "Saying this out loud helps me know what I need to do. Thank you for listening."
I notice my mother is nervously toying with the clasp of her purse, and when our eyes meet, her smile seems forced. The meeting concludes, and we pick up Matthew. There is minimal conversation between us during the ride home and while we eat lunch.
"A cup of tea?" I ask after Matthew settles down for his nap. I can't read my mother's mood, and the vague tension hanging between us is like a gauzy curtain, something you can only partially see through. I want to talk about it but hesitate and feel a familiar prick of anxiety. I take a breath and say, "Mom, what did you think of this morning?"
My mother looks thoughtful before answering, "It surprised me." 
I don't expect that answer. "In what way?"
"Well, it surprised me Sonya told a room full of people about her husband's infidelity and upcoming divorce." I hear the undercurrent of disapproval. Her answer reminds me of childhood admonishments not to tell anyone about our family business. I sip my tea, giving her time if she wants to say more. "It was not only that Sonya told you about her heartbreak and worries, but it was also how all of you reacted to her news," my mother explains.
I focus on keeping my tone light. "How did we react?" 
My mother looks across the table at me. "You and the other moms didn't seem to be critical of her situation—quite the contrary. Everyone listened to her story and offered help. It was interesting to watch."
"Mom, what interested you about it?" I ask.  
"Well, appearances matter,” she answers. “I was taught to keep my feelings and troubles to myself."
           Her statement seems like a final declaration—the end of the conversation. I am unprepared when my mother reaches her hand out to me. In almost a whisper, she says, "It has never felt safe to share feelings of discouragement and sadness like your friend Sonya did today."
I choose my words carefully. "How has it been to keep things to yourself, Mom?" 
           My mother looks away from me. Wanting to give her a moment to consider my question, I study the geometric design on the table cloth. 
She turns back to me and answers with a single word, "Lonely." 
Childhood scenes flash through my mind--my dad losing his job, a move to another state that took my mother away from her family, my grandfather dying. My memories are of my mother coping during difficult times, but her admission reveals she hid unhappiness and pain. 
It is as if she is holding up a mirror, and in its reflection, I glimpse the way a daughter can be like her mother.                                                                                   
 

​Keith Burkholder has been published in Creative Juices, Sol Magazine, Trellis Magazine, Foliate Oak Literary Journal, New Delta Review, Poetry Quarterly, Scarlet Leaf Review, and Birmingham Arts Journal.  He has a bachelor's degree in statistics with a minor in mathematics from SUNY at Buffalo (UB).​

​I do not have a belief in a higher order.  I do not believe in God or Jesus.  Atheism works for me in general.
Science is my belief system.  I believe in evolution and the Big Bang.  These work for me greatly.
Atheism is practiced by certain people.  They feel no need to believe in God.  This is just the way it is for them.
I never liked going to church.  Nothing really has changed for me because of religion.  This is how I feel about this.
Religion has a certain meaning for people.  This is not the case for me, and it has been this way for as long as I can remember.
There are others who are atheists.  This is not a bad thing, but others believe in God.  I believe whatever way works for people.
I like to believe in something I can see.  I have never seen or spoken to God and never will.  So why should I believe in God.
Believe in what you want to.  It is up to you and that is how it should be.  Religion should never be forced on a person.
 Take care for now and be good.  This is all one can ask for as COVID-19 continues as time passes.  A cure in the works would be fantastic as time carries forward now and into the future.